Wicked

Kyle 2

Kyle

Something was spooking me and I refused to believe it was Marie's reading. I refused to believe I was cursed. And yet Monday had been off, there was no other way to put it. Tuesday morning I stepped outside to get the mail and across the road, behind a side-gate a black Great Dane was barking incessantly – at me. Something about it was hauntingly transfixing; I scurried quickly back into the house.

My parents were in the kitchen. Dad in his suit by the granite counter-top, typing a work email on his blackberry. In front of him sat a pink grapefruit and little spoon, his breakfast. Mum was adding fruit and yogurt to her blended smoothie. She was also dressed to leave for work, two jewel earrings flashing as she raised her head.

"Want a breakfast smoothie, Kyle?" Whenever they spoke to me it was always just a few tones off scolding.

"No thanks, I'll just grab an apple later."

"Have a good day at school, champ." Dad raised his face "Do your best."

"I hope so."

"You will, you're a Thorburn."

I went back upstairs to my room, recognizing the concern on my face in the full-length mirror. The poster beside it was Fargo, an acclaimed 1996 film that was made by two brothers, Joel and Ethan Coen. I had nothing in common with any of my brothers, we were as different as different could be. It was one thing to be the black sheep of the family, but... No, I stopped myself.

Self-pity didn't do any good. I'd find some kind of job after school that hopefully paid enough, allowing me to move out somewhere. Sitting on my bed with a sigh I instead thought about Marie Humberdross's psychic reading.

After she told me a slighted lover had done black magic on me I'd wanted to leave. I'd not left fast enough to miss the pitying looks in her eyes. She knew I didn't believe in magic so she couldn't help me. Her expression said it all: she thought I was a dead man walking.

The main issue I have with her reading though... is that I don't have any slighted ex-lovers. The only relationship I'd ever had was with a twenty-year-old guy called Ethan Bowings. If you could call what we had a relationship. It was a pathetic, three-month long affair in which he cheated on me at the end and lost interest. I didn't feel we were compatible anyway. But regardless I'd not done anything to Ethan, and cheating aside it ended fairly amiably. Or at the very least, there was no vicious hurling of insults and anger. Apart from my initial reaction to his betrayal. But we'd split and that was that.

If Ethan felt anything for me it was perhaps guilt – though I didn't expect he felt even that. I can't see how he'd feel any malevolence toward me. He was a cashier in a dollar store, he was obsessed with Pokémon games and toys. A typical man-kid. He was annoying, actually.

Apart from Ethan I've had conversations with boys over dating apps, one or two I gave my number and there was back-and-forth for some months but nothing eventuated. I was ghosted or given the toss. My dating life was appalling, but I had too many other things to focus on. Study, work and family. With a toxic self-image like mine, I couldn't help thinking nobody would ever want me and that I shouldn't expect them to.

In the same way that I couldn't imagine anyone liking me – as uninteresting and underwhelming as I am – I also couldn't imagine anyone disliking me enough to put a curse on me.

Slighted lover, I thought as I slung my bag over my back when it was time to go. Heading down the stairs and into the garage. I'd been raised to be well-mannered and polite, aside from that I was naturally conscientious. I couldn't imagine slighting anyone without realizing.